Blackfoot Forest spit out your pride and lay yourself bare

Gjalla didn’t flinch. She refused. The weight of his words pressed against her like the suffocating chill of the frost-heavy air, but her resolve remained unmoving, her breath steady, her gaze colder than the ice beneath her paws. If his size was meant to cow her, if his snarl was meant to drive her into submission, he’d miscalculated.

Gjalla’s teeth snapped together with a sound like splintering ice, her breath curling in thick white puffs as she tilted her head, baring her fangs in a grim, humorless grin. He thought he could tower over her, drown her in his presence, but Gjalla was a creature of storms, of unyielding winters. She knew exactly what she was. It was the essence of her very being, all she was. It tempered her, carved her edges into spikes.

"You’re damn right I did. Ran from a cage disguised as security, from a future someone else decided for me." she spat, the words dripping venom, each syllable a knife. Her voice was low and bitter, a growl pulled from the depths of her chest. "But you're here, too. Tell me, what's your excuse?"

Her claws dug into the snow as she leaned forward, close enough to taste the bitterness on his breath, close enough to feel the pulse of her anger thundering in her chest. Her eyes, sharp as the cutting edge of a blade, locked onto his, daring him to look away. "I ran toward something. You? You’re still wandering in circles, sniffing after a crown that’s already turned to dust in your teeth."

Her lip curled further, a snarl pulling at her face as she took another deliberate step forward, chest nearly brushing his. Her breath hissed between her teeth as her tail lashed sharply behind her.  "Say what you like about me, Blackfell. Call me a coward. A stray. A failure." Her lips curled into a snarl, sharp as winter’s edge. "But don’t you dare stand there, dragging the rot of your dead legacy behind you, and pretend you're any better. You are as much king as I am queen."